


Of Mutton and Wolves

by KungfuChicken



Series: A quiet life [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Healing, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KungfuChicken/pseuds/KungfuChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musings of a gravedigger at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Mutton and Wolves

“If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with. There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can’t protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don’t ever believe any different.” According to his own words, he should consider himself mutton now. He was weak, weaponless and limping, fair game for the strong to play with.  
Since the age of seven he had wanted to become one of the strong, the strongest of them all, someone they all should learn to fear. He would not be played with again. But no matter how big and strong and fearsome you grew, there were always bigger and stronger ones that still used you as they pleased. He had learned that quickly enough in the service of the Lannisters.  
He knew what the strong did to the weak, how wolves ate mutton. He knew it was cruel. He had witnessed it many times and he had devoured a good number of sheep himself. Ever since he was twelve years old, he had been one of the wolves. And he had never cared to get involved with the mending of the damage done by the likes of him.  
But now he had no way of escaping. Not from himself and not from the survivors of Saltpans who had come here for help. They spoke of the horrors they encountered. And when he heard about these horrors he felt deeply ashamed, for he knew it was what he had inflicted upon other people at other times. The wolves had rushed in, looted, raped and burned everything in sight, left in a hurry and had let the surviving clean up the damage and butchery as best as they could.  
There was nothing he could do to help these people, except digging the graves for their dead. All he had learned was killing and destroying what others had taken so much trouble building. Upon closer reflection his whole life seemed to have been a complete waste of time to him now. He felt like he had to make up for it, or at least try. So he started digging. This he could do.  
The surviving people of Saltpans had already started building a new life from the ashes. How hope and life could blossom from these pools of blood and piles of bones, he could not fathom. But in time, he knew it would. Despite the lingering threat of the wolves, the sheep reassembled and carried on.  
And he suddenly realized that sheep were strong too. Not in the way he had long thought was the only way to be strong. It was the people who he had always despised as weak that endured, who rebuilt, made progress where he had just been repeating the same thing over and over. All the strong ones ever did, all he had done ever since he had been an angry twelve year old boy, was destroying things and imposing his power upon others because he could. And where had that brought him? He had almost succeeded in destroying himself. He had become the monster everybody saw in him. He had become the beast he never wanted to be. Now he began to see that his former way of coping with trouble had only led him to more trouble.  
The Elder Brother was right. It had been time to bury the Hound. The Hound had brought nothing good. However, Sandor Clegane was still here to deal with the consequences of a life spent rampaging through the world like a rabid dog. The Hound might be dead but Sandor Clegane had to reassemble himself and carry on, rebuilding, making amends, which was a much more difficult task than fighting and inspiring terror had ever been.  
The sack of Saltpans was the last crime they added to his long list, even though he had no part in it. Other crimes in his name were probably done as he was pondering these thoughts.  
He would deal with those responsible, he swore to himself. The Hound was gone and the one who stole his helm would learn soon enough that nothing good ever came from resurrecting the dead.


End file.
